


Tell Me Like It Is

by wolfhuntsmoon



Series: MCU Kink Bingo Fills [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: And He Knows It, Attempt at Humor, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Dom Steve Rogers, Enthusiastic Consent, Grumpy Bucky Barnes, Hand Jobs, Humor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Romance, Sex, Snark, Sub Bucky Barnes, Submission, Top Steve Rogers, Voice Kink, bucky barnes is weak 2k19, dinner date, i love you but damn you're a bastard, steve rogers is a SMOOTH bastard, steve rogers is a smug bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 18:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18103709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfhuntsmoon/pseuds/wolfhuntsmoon
Summary: Turns out, romancing Captain America is pretty hard.





	Tell Me Like It Is

**Author's Note:**

> First fill for the MCU Kink Bingo: Voice Kink. Thank you so much to the mods, unforth and whistlingwindtree, who gifted me a wonderfully tailored and very inspiring bingo card! Comments are always appreciated greatly! Find me on Tumblr [here](https://wolfhuntsmoon.tumblr.com)

Bucky glances around the room one last time. It’s as perfect as he can make it: curtains pulled, candles glowing, table laid with their best crockery and crisp, starched linen. All he can do is wait, but the heavy feeling in his gut has him prowl back and forth between the table and kitchen island, agonising over whether to alter the place settings, or to adjust the vase of roses he’s bought, or whether he should just sweep everything away into the bottom of their closet and pretend he hasn’t spent the past several hours panicking over tonight’s surprise.

The scrape of the key in the lock jolts him out of his panicked musings, and he lunges for the door. A sharp twist of the knob allows him to yank it open first, and Bucky gasps out a breathless “Hi!”

Steve’s face morphs from surprise to pleased amusement, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Hey Buck.” He steps in, crowding Bucky back against the wall, running his nose along the side of his neck. “You smell good. What’s the occasion?”

Buck flushes violently. He hadn’t thought Steve would pick up on the aftershave he’d dabbed on earlier, an afterthought at the time. But now he can smell it too; clean and sharp with traces of amber darkening the scent. It smells like a guy who wants to impress, wants to luck out and end up in bed with his fella. Steve mouths over his throat, cutting off all Bucky’s higher brain functions as he does so, the bastard.

“Date night!” He grits out, voice closer to a squeak than he’d ever admit out loud. Goddamn Steve with his stupid face and warm chest, hands that feel as if they could cocoon Bucky. They make him want to forget all about the dinner in the oven.

“Date night?” Steve pulls back, confusion creasing his forehead. “Since when do we have date night?” He raises a questioning eyebrow.

Bucky grins. “Can’t handle a little romance Rogers?”

“It’s been so long since I experienced any I’d forgotten you knew the meaning of the word.” Steve says, dry as the Sahara desert.

Bucky gasps, clutching at imaginary pearls and raising his other hand to his forehead as if he’s about to faint. “Steven Grant, are you accusing me of failing to woo you?”

Steve still looks stern as he speaks, but laughter draws out the broader vowels of his speech. “Is it an accusation if it’s already acknowledged to be true? Just yesterday you told me to knock off that, ‘lovey-dovey shit’!”

Bucky sniffs, spreading his arms wide, and looking through his lashes at Steve. He pouts a little, for maximum effect. “Because you were doing it wrong. Thought I’d give you a lesson.” He slides the tip of his tongue to the top of his lip, tracking the growing darkness in Steve’s eyes as they trace the route it takes.

Steve’s voice drops a whole octave when he next speaks, a bass rumble in Bucky’s ear as he leans forward to capture his mouth. “I’m listening, Buck.”

That rat bastard. Bucky can feel his well laid plans unravelling already, the liquid tones of Steve’s voice weakening Bucky’s knees. The kiss starts light, tongues tracing the bow of his lips, Steve’s nose nudging his, the hot press of his palms against Bucky’s back a brand sparking a fire in his gut. Steve deepens the kiss, and it’s all Bucky can do to stay upright. He moans, ragged. Heaving a breath in, he attacks Steve’s mouth, shoving forward to wind his arms around Steve’s neck, curling his fingers in the blond’s hair. All too soon he has to pull back and drag in badly needed air, clutching at Steve’s shoulders.

Steve’s by no means unaffected by all this, but the sly son of a bitch knows he’s got the upper hand in this game they’re playing, and knows how to keep it too. Which he proves when he drops his head to murmur against the shell of Bucky’s ear. “You look so good baby doll, in that sweater. All soft and homey. Like a little pet, waiting for me, hoping I’ll pay you some attention when I get back.” Steve’s breath is hot and damp on his skin, tickling the fine hairs there in the most maddening of ways which shouldn’t turn him on. But does anyway. Because it’s Steve.

Bucky isn’t interested in pretending to be a dog, or cat, or rabbit, or any of the other myriad animals he knows people on the internet include in their sex games. He really doesn’t give a shit.

Except when Steve’s voice, dark and sinful, breathes thoughts like smoke through him, wrapping around his mind, enveloping everything in a hazy cloud, obscuring everything Bucky thought he knew about his preferences. He whines, low in his throat, and sucks a mark on Steve’s exposed collarbone in revenge. It won’t last more than a few hours but it’s the best he can do under the circumstances, the circumstances being one Captain Smug Bastard steamrolling over every well laid plan Bucky’d concocted for tonight with the raw power of his lips and tongue and teeth.

“What’s that baby?” Steve’s voice grows rougher, a rumble rolling out the ends of his words so they slur together, and Bucky is going to have a heart attack if this doesn’t stop soon. He realises that he’s hard, and pressing against Steve, hips shifting in small, jerky motions, seeking relief.

“I-” He begins; gives up. Bites Steve’s shoulder again resentfully. No-one can shut Bucky Barnes up except this punk, and boy does the big lunk revel in it. Steve chuckles, and the viciousness of it has Bucky rolling his hips harder. “You!”

Steve grins against his skin, hands running down his back to fondle Bucky’s ass and tug him further into the cradle of Steve’s hips.

“Shh, I know baby, it’s okay.” Steve drops his tone to a velvet whisper, the rasp of the sibilants sending a shudder up Bucky’s spine and further removing his legs from his conscious control. “Let go and let me make you feel good. Romance, right?”

The brief flare of outrage Bucky feels deep, deep in his soul at this palooka’s commandeering of his carefully laid plans is eclipsed by the bass gravel now emanating from Steve’s chest. It’s like drowning in syrup, so sweet and sticky that Bucky can’t move but doesn’t want to anyway, content to stay and suffocate so long as he gets _more_. He chokes out Steve’s name, and some wretched cry that’s not even half a word because Steve shushes him again before he’s done. The soft susurrations tremor against his lips as Steve closes in for another kiss, gentler this time but no less devastating.

“You’re so good for me Buck, so pretty and thoughtful.” Steve breathes as he draws back, letting Bucky grind against him, eyes rolling back in pleasure from the electric contact between their groins.

“My perfect boy.” Bucky closes his eyes, Steve’s speech winding down his spine and twisting in his gut, uncompromising steel behind the honeyed waterfall of sound. He twitches his hips faster, chasing the gathering heat in his belly. “So beautiful, when you can’t hold it together anymore.” A hand unzips his jeans and tugs Bucky’s cock out into the cooler air, the shock of the temperature change making him whimper.

“That’s it, there we are, good boy-” Bucky cries out at the twin sensations of Steve’s hand around both their cocks - when had the sneaky son of a bitch managed that? - and the raw desire he can almost taste in Steve’s tone.

“Feels good, doesn’t it Buck? God, you’re so gorgeous for me like this, so good, letting me do what I want…” The careful control Steve maintains of his accent slips now, letting the Brooklyn tough peek through, and Bucky can’t get enough of it, clawing at Steve’s back as he continues stroking them both, heavy and insistent. “I swear on all the saints, Buck, you could turn the Devil himself, the way you look.” His voice is more strained now, new notes of urgency bleeding through as they writhe against each other, but every syllable winds Bucky higher. He’s beyond words, keening high and thready in the back of his throat, bared for Steve to pepper kisses on between the streams of praise falling from his lips.

“Never want anyone to see this, never want anyone to know you’re so sweet for me, that you’re mine, my good boy, my perfect boy...” The cascade of words sweeps Bucky away, has him crashing over the edge with Steve in a blinding fit of pure pleasure, unspooling the coiled tension in his stomach that’s been lurking there since he started getting ready.

They pant together, inches away from the front door still. Steve kisses the damp patches on Bucky’s temples, grabs a tissue from the dresser and wipes them both down. Bucky groans, oversensitive and still turned on, wanting to flinch away but also pounce on Steve and tumble him to the floor for round two immediately. Only the thumb drawing featherlight circles on his cheek distracts him enough that Steve’s done, tucking him back into his jeans, expression proud and pleased and possessive all at once. It makes Bucky feel like a whole mine of diamonds, hidden and precious. No-one gets to see Steve like this except him. No-one gets to have this part of Steve, the part that looks at him like a wolf looks at a deer, starving and _wanting_.

Bucky draws a deep, shuddering breath; wills his legs to support his weight again. The chime of the oven timer interrupts his internal pep talk, and he wobbles from the wall to extract the casserole from the main shelf.

Steve stalks him, hunter after prey. “Smells good,” he offers.

The echo of earlier sends heat to Bucky’s cheeks. “It’s as close to your ma’s recipe as I could get,” he mutters.

Steve’s inhale is audible behind him. Hands snake around his waist and a ridiculously square jaw comes to rest on his metal shoulder. “Thank you baby,” he says, slow and serious, “you’re so good to me. So thoughtful.”

Bucky sighs, lets himself be turned to face Steve, accepts the sweet kiss the blond presses to his lips. “My good boy.” The weariness and care Steve tries to hide is in full view now, weighing down his words, but the warmth of his delivery has happiness fizzing in Bucky’s chest. Steve’s let go for once and for all now, no hiding, just as Bucky wanted.

“C'mon Stevie. Pull up a chair and take a load off.” Bucky says, deftly serving them both the stew in big bowls, thick slices of wholemeal loaf perched on the side. It only takes a moment for them to be seated, the pristine white of the tablecloth a perfect backdrop for the vibrant colour of the meal. Steve hums in delight with the first mouthful, and Bucky feels utter contentment then, deep in the marrow of his bones.

Steven. G. Rogers might be a sly, scheming, silver tongued bastard, but he’s _Bucky’s_ bastard.

And Bucky wouldn’t change a single damn thing about him.


End file.
